


Take My Breath Away

by Le_Tournesol



Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Asthma, Asthma Attacks, Baz Pitch is a good boyfriend, Baz is in love with one (1) idiot, Cuddling, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post Watford, Pre-Wayward Son, Simon would die without Penny, Whump, honestly Baz would too ngl, simon!whump, worried!baz
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-07
Updated: 2019-11-07
Packaged: 2021-01-25 03:00:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,250
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21349156
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Le_Tournesol/pseuds/Le_Tournesol
Summary: Baz learns that Simon has asthma.Or, Simon makes terrible jokes.
Relationships: Penelope Bunce & Simon Snow, Penelope Bunce & Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch, Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow
Comments: 23
Kudos: 228





	Take My Breath Away

**Author's Note:**

> lol what is britpicking and what would it be like if I didn’t write and post from a phone??? Also, I have asthma, but it’s super mild; I’ve only had a few attacks, and I just carry a rescue inhaler. I did some research. Sorry if I got anything wrong.

In spite of living together for eight years, I don’t realize Snow has asthma until after we leave Watford. 

I find out the morning after he and Bunce move into their new flat in London.

We’d spent the previous day carrying and unpacking boxes well into the night before we all crashed around the telly to watch a movie. 

I fell asleep with Snow’s head on my chest, covered by a throw that Bunce tossed over both of us, and it was lovely. 

When I wake up, Snow and Bunce are moving about the kitchen. The kettle’s gently whistling on the stove, and a column of soft light is streaming through their window. 

“I can’t believe you’ve misplaced it again, Simon,” Bunce fusses as she digs through a box to find a few pots and pans for breakfast. “I swear I’m just going to spell it to your hand. Are you sure you can’t find it?”

“I swear I put it in with my toiletries,” Snow tells her. His trackie bottoms are riding low on his hips, and his curls are mussed from sleep. There’s a pink imprint from the blanket on his cheek, and I want to kiss it. 

I want to kiss him. 

“Si, I love you, but you only had two bags,” she says as she removes the kettle from the stovetop and pours it into a chipped ceramic teapot. 

Frankly, she’s got a point. 

Snow’s belongings are meager at best, so it’s hard to imagine he managed to lose something that seems important. 

Snow sighs, “Can you just cast  it’s always in the last place you look , Pen?”

She sits a mug of piping hot tea in front of him, “Of course. You only have to ask.” 

She smiles and raises the hand with her purple ring, and one of the boxes on the kitchen counter rustles around until a small object flings itself free and into her hand. 

While they’re talking, I roll off the couch and start to make my way over to join them. The promise of tea and Simon are the only things that could get me up at such an ungodly hour. 

Bunce is still teasing him when I walk up. She says, “Honestly, how did it end up with the kitchen appliances?” 

And then she waves it around before handing it to him.

It’s an inhaler.

I blink, “You have asthma?”

My voice alerts Snow to my presence, and he shifts around to give me a bright smile, “Good morning, love.”

My heart melts a little bit, and I press a kiss to his temple.

I gesture to the little bit of bright red plastic in his hand again, “Asthma?”

“Oh,” he says as if he just remembered what he was holding. “Yeah. Since I was little. I didn’t want you to know when we were in school, and then I just honestly didn’t think to tell you.” Snow shrugs before he shakes it and takes two puffs.

“He was afraid you would use it against him,” Bunce supplies as she sips her tea. “I told him it wasn’t your style. Why give him an asthma attack when you could summon a chimera? You always had a flare for the dramatic.”

I flush because she’s right. 

I’m embarrassed, but I’m not ready to let the subject drop. How often does he have asthma attacks? Did he have them at Watford? Does he keep a rescue inhaler? Where? What are his triggers?

All of these questions start gumming up my brain too early in the morning, but it feels like information I should know. 

I’m his boyfriend after all. 

What if we’re together and something happens? 

Crowley, I’d be virtually useless.

Magic doesn’t do much for conditions like asthma. I suppose I could cast  breathe easy,  but that’s only so effective. 

Merlin, this explains the mouth breathing, doesn’t it?

I feel like a right arse.

I must be awfully deep in thought because Snow is suddenly right in front of me. He smoothes the pad of his index finger between my eyebrows.

I stare.

“You’re thinking too hard,” he explains. “You get this little line right...  here .”

He touches the spot again for emphasis, and I flush for a second time this morning even though I’ve only been awake for ten minutes. 

I should probably get used to these sorts of reactions if I’m going to be around Snow all the time, if he’s going to act like this... 

I swallow. No need to be so sappy this early. Instead, I say, “Someone’s got to be the one thinking in this relationship.” There’s no heat, and he just flashes a toothy grin in my direction. I clear my throat, “So you’re telling me after all this time that I could’ve just done you in with a bit of dust?”

“It’s fairly controlled at this point, so no,” Bunce answers for him. She’s pulled out a few papers from an expanding file folder that was lying on the sofa table, and she holds one out to me. “See?”

It’s a treatment plan. 

There’s even a chart with a spirometer.

It looks like sometimes he was checking his peak flow at least once a day. 

How the fuck did he hide this for so long?

When I get closer to the current date, I notice a significant decline in his peak flow. “What’s going on here?” I ask. 

Bunce looks over my shoulder, “Those are interview days. It’s worse when they’re closer together.”

Huh. I didn’t realize emotions could impact asthma symptoms. 

I file that bit away for later and keep flipping through the stacks, where I find a diagnosis, triggers, a personalized treatment plan, and more.

Bunce is certainly thorough.

She reads my mind, I think, and says, “He had four attacks when we were firsties. I took over.”

Snow has the decency to look chagrined. 

“I carry a spare rescue inhaler, too,” Bunce adds. She shudders at a memory, “He turned blue once when he left it in your dorm room. I don’t want a repeat performance.”

“It was one time,” Snow argues as he rummages through a box with food items. He finds an open package of cereal and shoves his hand into the bag to grab a fistful of cornflakes to eat dry. Gross.

I wrinkle my nose in distaste, and the tosser laughs at me.

“Once is one time too many,” Bunce says. She pinches him on the bicep as she walks by. “You don’t make a good blueberry.” 

Snow makes a thoughtful noise, “Do we have blueberries? I could make blueberry scones.”

Predictable , I think. It never takes too long to get him back onto is favorite subject.

———

The investigation of the Mage is drawn out and miserable. 

I have no idea why it’s taking so long to reveal all the misdeeds of one man, who also happens to be dead. It’s not like the Mage can even argue with their accusations, but they’re still interrogating Snow like they think he’s withholding all the secrets of the universe.

It’s making him a nervous wreck.

Bunce says his nightmares are awful, and he wakes up screaming and crying and shaking some nights, fearful that he’s going to go off even though he can’t. 

He looks terrible. His skin is washed out and gray. There are dark circles under his ordinary blue eyes, and I wish I could wipe them away. 

I think he’s losing weight, too.

He’s also been coughing a lot recently, and I hate to think that he’s coming down with something on top of all the stress. 

Fuck .

It’s Bunce’s idea to increase the number of sleepovers, and I don’t protest. While he still tosses and turns and wakes up in a cold sweat, he definitely sleeps better when I’m curled up next to him.

Honestly, I do too. 

On Saturday morning while he showers, Bunce suggests we get him out of the flat.

“Something physical,” she poses. “Something outside.”

It’s as good an idea as any, so we start packing up for a picnic lunch in the park. Simon brightens when he realizes what we’re doing, and he’s quick to volunteer to make the sandwiches while Bunce adds bags of crisps and bottles of water and soda to our basket.

As they finish up, I scrounge around Snow’s bedroom until I find an old battered football. Mindful of the neighbors, I dribble it lightly. 

This will be fun, I think, and I’m right. 

Really, we spend the morning chasing the football through the park, and Snow actively encourages me to show off. Bunce even plays for awhile before she huffs about being out of shape and settles on the blanket with an old, heavy tome. 

Even though he’s coughing, Snow looks better than he has in days as he kicks the ball to me from across the line. 

He fixes me with a happy, dazzling smile, and I suddenly feel significantly lighter. 

We’re passing the ball between us and talking about stopping at his favorite pastry shop on the way home when it happens. 

At first I thought he’d just overdone it, and it was making his cold come on faster.

But then I wasn’t so sure.

A long coughing fit ends on a short gasp, and I’m immediately at his side, “Snow! Simon? What’s wrong?”

He shakes his head, but he doesn’t answer. He’s hunched over himself now. He tries to clear his throat, and then he sucks in another noisy breath.

Wait. 

Noisy?

“Crowley, are you having an asthma attack?” I demand. I pull him upright and look into his watery eyes. He nods sheepishly. “Fuck.”

“It’s...” he whispers, “okay.”

Fuck this fucking numpty and his twisted definition of okay, okay? 

While I feel panicky, I manage to keep a little dignity and stay calm, “Did you bring your inhaler?”

He rolls his eyes and gestures to our blanket with our bags, “I only... forgot it... one... time.”

“Do you... Can you walk?” I ask. I’m completely out my element, and I’ve got no real meter for something of this nature. Moreover, I’ve seen Simon walk off a stab wound or claim to be fine while he’s got some sort of internal bleeding. I don’t really trust his assessment of these sorts of situations either.

Slowly, we make our way back over to Bunce. Simon absently rubs his chest like it hurts while we cross the lawn, and I hover uselessly at his side. 

Bunce hears us lumbering toward her. Her eyes widen, and then she grabs Simon’s bag and dumps the contents out onto the blanket before plucking up the inhaler and rising to meet us.

She shakes it up before she holds it out to him, “Here.” She forces it into his hand, making sure his shaky fingers curl around it. While he depresses the cartridge and inhales deeply, she rubs circles onto his back. I count vaguely as he holds his breath and exhales. He waits and repeats, and then Bunce guides him back to our blanket by the shoulders. 

I trail behind them like a lost dog. 

She settles him on the blanket and fishes out a bottle of water to pass to him. He takes a long drink, and then he coughs again. 

“Is there anything...? What can I do?” I ask stupidly. 

“We’ve got it under control,” Bunce reassures me. “Don’t worry.”

Subtly, she raises her hand and casts  breathe easy,  and Simon relaxes minutely. 

Sensing my next question, Bunce says, “The inhaler starts working immediately. He’ll probably just be jittery then tired.”

Simon, who is leaning back against my bag now, nods in agreement. He coughs occasionally and keeps pretty quiet, and Bunce goes back to reading.

I don’t know what to do with myself or my hands, and the sound of Bunce turning pages while my boyfriend wheezes softly sets my teeth on edge.

Neither of them can probably even hear it anymore, and right now my enhanced senses are just a source of anxiety. 

Suddenly, Simon covers my hand with his own. It’s sun-warmed, and my fingers twitch in response. 

“Stop freaking out,” he instructs with a smile. 

“Don’t be daft,” I sneer. “I’m perfectly calm.”

“You’re a perfect liar,” Snow retorts, but he coughs twice. “I’m fine.”

“Okay.”

“Baz.” He’s in my face now, forcing me to look right at him. “Seriously. Everything is okay. It wasn’t even a bad one.”

I’m far from reassured. It looked bad enough to me. I don’t want to see worse. Ever. 

This isn’t something I can fix or fight. 

It’s not like we can force his lungs to stay clear or fully expand.

It’s just something that has to be kept under control. 

While I’m distracted, Snow leans impossibly closer and grins at me. His face is still flushed and his pupils are a little too wide, but there’s a mischievous tilt to his lips that I can’t resist. “Hey, Baz?”

“What, Snow?”

He kisses me.

It’s quick, too quick, and it’s simple, a stolen peck on the lips, but Simon is rarely demonstrative in public. I’m totally taken aback until he pulls away with a smirk and opens his big stupid mouth. 

“You take my breath away.”

I blink.

“Merlin and Morgana, Simon,” Bunce groans while I stare at him in disbelief and try to process what he’s said. When I do, I feel myself color.

Crowley, I’m completely in love with an idiot. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Yep. This is what I do. I may come back and add to this later (I have some ideas about dusty old manors), and I am probably going to write at asthma!au set at Watford where Baz doesn’t know and totally flips the fuck out when Simon just randomly starts wheezing.
> 
> Thank you all so much for reading! Hope you enjoyed.


End file.
